


Acacia .

by redstringraven (sirimiri)



Series: lovely mind . [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Ficlet, First Kiss, Fluff, Haphephobia, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23733217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirimiri/pseuds/redstringraven
Summary: Rosé bows her head, her fingers idling the hem of her apron. He already knows the question lingering at the tip of her tongue. It's murmuring in his own head, just faint enough that--if he's wrong--he could find ways to ignore it. But she looks up, prudence evident in the softness of her eyes and the hesitation when she opens her mouth. He knows he's not wrong."... Can I kiss you?"
Relationships: Dolcetto | Dorochet/Rosé Thomas
Series: lovely mind . [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690540
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Acacia .

**Author's Note:**

> *tips bottle of hard cider at you guys* back at it again at the rarepair table.
> 
> i have no excuse for this aside from lying in bed at 10pm, thinking about the ship, and suddenly realizing i'm writing enough notes in my phone that i gotta fic it. thank for clicking in, much appreciate.  
> now, if you'll excuse me, i gotta ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ 

* * *

It's a question she asks with prudence.

The city of Liore had grown quiet as evening activity migrated from the streets to various buildings, restaurants, and homes alike. As the night sky crept from the horizon and settled over the city, they'd watched the alleys go dark and the warm glow of light leak from windows, pooling on across walls. Rosé's balcony is small but homey. A few potted plants frame the old rail, and it's placed just so that the cool spring breeze tickles their skin as it passes by.

As it got darker, they moved inside to sit on the kitchen counter with their backs to the light. Both found their own satisfaction in watching the sun slowly sink below the skyline. They talked, teased, confided. Inched closer, little by little. Laughed. Until the distance between them is little more than a turn of the head, and it becomes impossible to ignore the other's breath or how their lips form words.

The record Rosé put on, still whispering a melody, dulls under the thrum of his own heartbeat. He felt somehow detached from his body and painfully conscious of it at the same time. They've fallen silent, with only their breath between them and an acute awareness of new energy in the air.

Rosé bows her head, her fingers idling the hem of her apron. He already knows the question lingering at the tip of her tongue. It's murmuring in his own head, just faint enough that--if he's wrong--he could find ways to ignore it. But she looks up, prudence evident in the softness of her eyes and the hesitation when she opens her mouth. He knows he's not wrong.

"... Can I kiss you?"

Dol pressed his lips together, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes pull away from her lips and down to her hands. He hates how the thought of being touched--even by _her_ \--twists his stomach. It's stupid. Pathetic. How hands as gentle as hers could still rile a sense of fear.

He looks back to her and how the kitchen's dim light pools on her cheeks, lips, eyes, and shoulders. It catches the strands of her hair, so her bangs frame her face, and the messy bun crowning her head seems to spill dark and glowing strands alike. The look in her eyes is one of want and one of worry; she knows how he distances himself, avoids physical contact at almost any cost.

It's not fair to her to keep her at arm's length. _This_ … whatever _this_ may be blooming between them… had gone with little more than a brush of fingers since it first began to bud. She's been respectful. Never questioning, never annoyed, never offended. Always patient. After all this time… it's the first request she's had.

And Dol feels it, too. Despite the hesitation and bubbling dread, he wants to lean in. Her kindness, understanding, and affection are as beautiful as the life in her gaze and how her voice sounds when she whispers. He wants to make her happy. To give her safety, comfort, and everything he can. The fact that she includes him in those needs... He shivers.

His head buzzes with every reason he shouldn't, and his voice betrays him as he parts his lips to speak.

But Dol nods.

Nervous--scared, even--as he may be. He wants _this_ more. He wants _her_.

Rosé pulls in a breath, likely surprised by his answer. There's another weighted pause. She leans closer, and their noses brush. It sends a jolt through his skin. Dol stays still, half-aware that he's holding his breath and half-aware that he'd flinched. Rosé has gone still, and her breath ghosts over his lips and chin.

Uncertainty. She's giving him the chance to pull away if he wants to.

He doesn't.

Rosé's bangs tickle his forehead, and in the seconds before their lips meet, a surge of panic rushes through his body. He's aware of how long it's been since he's kissed anyone--questions if he even remembers how. The scent of cinnamon and sugar still lingers on her breath, mixing with the lavender and rosemary in the kitchen, and it's dizzying.

Her lips brush over his, tentative and light. They're soft. Warm. Slick with the lipstick she likes to wear on nights like this, even when it makes no difference to him. Dol exhales the breath he'd been holding, and the panic drifts away. He realizes he's leaning forward just as she begins to pull back, and they both stiffen.

"--Was…" Rosé bites her lip, and he can't help but stare at the movement before his gaze returns to her eyes. She speaks barely above a whisper. "Was that still okay?"

Dol's heart stutters.

The question is so simple, yet means so much, and again, he's betrayed by his own voice. All he can do is stare at her as his breath evens out. It's not until he realizes her expression has grown worried, that he remembers how to speak.

"--Yeah--" Dol blurts out. Loudly. He winces at himself, heat racing to burn beneath his cheeks down to his neck. His mouth moves mutely for a moment, but he's quick to clear his throat. "No--it… yeah, you're fine, it… it was… it..."

And just as soon as he'd found it, his voice is lost. They're already drifting closer. Only, this time, the reflex to lean away is gone.

Dol's lips press over hers, and he hears her sharp intake of breath. He pulls away enough to mutter an apology, fearful that he may have read her wrong--that she didn't want him to do that. But her lips, still grazing against his, curve into a gentle smile (and it's a feeling he never wants to forget). Her laugh comes breathy and light, and she's kissing him again. Somehow even softer than before. Somehow sweeter, as though joy had cultivated a taste.

One of her hands brushes the slope of his jaw, soothing as it guides him closer. It's the first time in so long that he's experienced a touch so careful and tender. The first time in years, that hands have touched him as though he were something precious.

The feeling that swells in his chest is overwhelming. So much that he breaks away with an exhale, withdrawing and quickly moving his hands to grip the undersides of the counter, as though he might fall off the edge.

Rosé leans back, pulling her hand to her chest.

Dol swallows hard. It feels like his ribs are about to implode, and the damned emotion he can't identify is still coiling around his lungs and heart. He knows he's ruined it. _Shit,_ his hands are shaking. He's sick in the throat. The swell becomes a maelstrom of thoughts, feelings, swirling in his head and chest and stomach. He doesn't know where to start processing them.

But he does know one thing: that he can't let her apologize. She did nothing wrong. He's not about to go making her think that she did.

"--Sorry," he murmurs, shaking his head. "I… --I dunno, I ju… -- _fuck_."

One of the many emotions surges to the front. It's one he knows all too well.

Shame, heavy and all-encompassing, falls over him like a cold sheet.

Dol presses a hand over his face. A useless, even childish, effort to hide his expression and not let her see that _he_ doesn't even know what the **fuck** is wrong with him. Why, right as he felt peace, he ran. She'd every right to be confused, even frustrated. He wouldn't blame her.

"...are you alright?" Rosé asks after a moment's silence. He finds sense enough to nod.

"Yeah," he says around a breathy chuckle. He sniffs and swipes the side of his hand under his nose. "...sorry."

Rosé shakes her head. "--Dolcetto, _no._ I-it's okay. If anyone should be apologizing, i-it… it should be me. I've made you uncomfortable."

"You _didn't_."

"... I… I didn't?"

Dol shook his head, lowering his hand from his face. "Nah. I… I dunno why I j… --that was the… I can't… remember the last time someone touched me, and… and I _liked_ it."

He hears her inhale, and he swallows. He keeps talking. "I… --it _made_ me… --I don't know. I-it was like it wasn't _real_ \--and I…"

Now the words were utterly lost on him, and he lets himself lean forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his head dropping into his hands. God, he sounds like such a _fucking idiot_.

Beside him, Rosé slides a little closer. She doesn't touch him--her hands lower to fold in her lap--but she does lean forward to try getting a glimpse of his face. He can just see her through his fingers.

"But. That's a good thing. Isn't it?" She asks, her voice gentler than he deserves. She pauses, then speaks in a tone somehow warmer than before. "Dolcetto. It… it's okay. If it's still going t-to take time. -- It's okay if you're only comfortable with… with that. ... it's okay."

Dol pulled one hand through his hair, hesitating before looking back up to her. "Maybe, but. --Shit, I don't wanna… --you shouldn't have to deal with this **shit**. It's… _stupid_ , and it ain't your fault, either."

"-- It's **not** stupid," she says quickly. Her shoulders raise a bit, and she presses her hands firmer against her lap. "Please… _please_ don't say that. What. Wh-what happened to you is _unforgivable_ , a-and if I tried to push you further than you wanted, I'd be no better."

"Don't even put yourself on their playing field, Rosé."

Dol speaks a little sharper than he should have... but the idea of Rosé comparing herself to… _them_. The people who'd dragged him underground, locked him in a cage, and threw him into a mess he never asked to be a part of. He won't-- can't--stand for it. She's _everything_ they weren't. There's **no** comparison.

Rosé frowns, her eyes trailing down and away. But, after a moment, she nods and looks to him again. "What I mean is. I'm here, Dol. I want to be by you, even when it's hard like this. You don't have to work through it alone. Or at all. ... there's no shame in it. ...alright?"

"..."

How is it she always manages to do this? Render him speechless with little more than her sincere empathy and warmth.

Dol stares at her as his solemn expression melts away. He reaches up, delicately tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

Her expression is momentarily surprised but softens as well, and she tilts her head to rest in his palm. There's no sense of panic… no need to pull his hand away.

It's peace. And, if only for a moment, it's theirs.


End file.
